


boy you'd have to be absurd

by tsukaishimas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, First Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukaishimas/pseuds/tsukaishimas
Summary: It was a plea for change. Something that Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly give him, not now, not ever. Because Iwaizumi Hajime? He’s home. He’s comfortable. He’s all Tooru has known since he learned how to count 1-2-3--and that’s where the danger lies.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sugawara Koushi
Kudos: 14





	boy you'd have to be absurd

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Better](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/704720) by Sam Rui. 



> hello welcome to my ao3 debut!!! i've had this acc for like 2 yrs but only decided 2 write now ha ha
> 
> this is heavily inspired by lines in Sam Rui's Better; i recommend watching the music video to understand the (potential) turn of events. hope you guys liked this too!

**_i was young i was dreamy / got you on your knees_ **

**_begging, "stay with me please / you're the best that i've been with_ **

_‘Miyagi does not feel like home anymore.’_

Tooru muses as he takes a stroll along the town proper, looking at the new, hip places occupying the spaces where old shophouses used to stand tall. The old Ramen and Gyoza place he used to frequent as a high schooler was no longer there, and in its place stood _another_ hipster coffeeshop. He enters anyway, ordering himself an iced americano and perching himself on the barstools by the window.

If Miyagi definitely doesn’t even look like home, how the hell is it even supposed to _feel_ like it? Had he been given a choice, Tooru would rather fly his family to Osaka or somewhere else for a vacation. But his mom, as firm as ever, begged him to spend at least one of his longer breaks at home. So here he is, spending his second day back in Miyagi, the place that he probably felt caged in more than ever, alone and going around an area he thought he was familiar with.

He isn’t due to meet Hanamaki and Matsukawa for another hour, but having to stay at home is a lot more excruciating for him than walking around endlessly. He’s been too preoccupied with his future vacation planning--maybe he could bring his family to Europe next year? Would his mom appreciate a shopping spree at Champs-Élysées? He’d be a good fucking son, buy her all the designer bags she wanted. Maybe she’d like those weird, cheap outlet places in Los Angeles.

On top of everything looking very different, he’s sure he’s bound to bump into unwarranted company the longer he spends time here. He feels his skin crawl. Not that he didn’t like talking, it was just being home meant having to answer questions about him leaving and starting a new life halfway across the world. A lot of them are along the lines of _“What made you leave?”_ or _“Are you really happy being away?”_ These, admittedly, are easier to bullshit, but Tooru didn’t have the energy to deal with their reactions. He knows what’s coming either way: the slight stoop of their shoulders, the poorly masked looks of disappointment or pity, the shift in the energy.

But the worst question to get the most, of course, is the ever so wonderful _“Does Iwaizumi know you’re home?”_

How the hell is he supposed to answer that without making it awkward? How do you tell people that the person who you used to be attached to at the hip was now a stranger to you?

_‘No, he doesn’t know I’m home because we don’t talk anymore. Oh, why? Because I only told him I was leaving for Argentina a week before my flight. Obviously he didn’t take it well. No, he didn’t lash out--which was worse, but rather he had isolated himself beyond fucking repair the summer before his first term of college.’_

You can’t necessarily say that to acquaintances from high school, right?

Tooru remembers everything vividly. The tension that filled his room with an air so thick he felt suffocated. He remembers the angry screaming. The tears. Iwaizumi’s tear-stricken face and red eyes. He remembers the way Iwaizumu shook him way too hard by the shoulders before pulling him in a searing kiss, a fierce knocking of teeth tasting like tears.

He remembers not reciprocating and the chaos that ensued after. The way Iwaizumi pulled away, sobbing, kneeling down and burying his face against his shirt while his arms wrapped around his waist, holding on tight as if he was going to evaporate. Endless chants of _“Don’t go,” “Why are you leaving,” “Why can’t you stay?,”_ were slowly picking at his heart and breaking down his walls bit by bit.

It’s the quiet but harsh whisper of _“Let go of me. I need this.”_ that stops Iwaizumi from begging, letting go of his best friend of seventeen fucking years and boyfriend of four as if he got burnt from touching him. The statement was loaded. It wasn’t just to get him to stop crying. It was a plea for change. Something that Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly give him, not now, not ever. Because Iwaizumi Hajime? He’s home. He’s comfortable. He’s all Tooru has known since he learned how to count 1-2-3--and that’s where the danger lies. 

How the hell is he supposed to find himself and get to his best when he can’t dive into unchartered territory? What good will familiarity bring him?

“Hajime! Over here!” He hears someone call out, voice muffled by the glass window. Tooru couldn’t place where he heard it before so he immediately racked his brain and memory to figure out who that was, giving a face to the playful and soft lilt that cut through his thoughts. He stares intently at the grey-haired figure seemingly looking somewhere out of Tooru’s line of vision in an attempt to figure out why everything feels so familiar. Also--

_‘Hajime? Nah. For sure he isn’t the only one here...’_ He tried to rationalize in his head. _‘That can’t be--’_

Tooru nearly gets whiplash from ducking his head so fast to avoid being recognized.

_Iwaizumi Hajime. 27._ ~~_Pokemon_ ~~ _Japanese Olympic Team’s Athletic trainer. His childhood best friend. First kiss. First love._

The figure who was waving him over finally turns to the side. Tooru now has a face.

_Sugawara Koushi. I don’t know what the fuck his age is. I don’t know his occupation either. Karasuno’s benched setter. One brought in to mess with our rhythm. Mr. Refreshing._

He watches them hug before intertwining their hands. Iwaizumi gives Sugawara a smile, something that screamed whole-hearted love and ardor and passion so intense it was almost scalding, a look that Tooru used to be so, _so_ familiar with. Because, a mere ten, twelve, fourteen years ago, he’d been at the receiving end of that smile. His heart clenches as he watches the pair, with their hands interlocked as if they were each other’s lifelines, cross the street and into the restaurant across the coffeeshop.

Tooru’s home. But he’s not comfortable.

_“Was change worth losing all that I’ve known and loved for the longest time?”_


End file.
